


Thunder and Lightning

by Enochianess



Series: Gallavich Week 2015 [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angry Ian Gallagher, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, GW2015, Gallavich Week, Inspired by Music, Jukebox, M/M, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gallavich Week - Day 4: Song inspired works</p><p>There had been a shooting at the Alibi. Ian couldn't find Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder and Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:  
> It's thunder and it's lightning by We Were Promised Jet Packs

There had been a shooting at the Alibi. Ian couldn't find Mickey. 

If he wasn't dead, Ian was going to fucking kill him himself.

 

_Right foot_

_Followed by a left foot_

 

Ian stopped, panting, a stitch in his side despite his morning workouts.

He'd run all over. He'd been to the Alibi, which was closed up for the day, not a person in sight. He'd been home, dropped Yevgeny off with Debbie, hoping that for some bizarre reason Mickey would be holed up there. But no, that had been a bust too. He'd been to the park, the school, under the L, the dugouts. He'd wandered aimlessly through the streets, just hoping Mickey would be waltzing around with that dumb thug swagger of a walk. 

But, Mickey was no where.

Ian panicked.

 

_Sit tight with the lights off_

_Waiting for my brain to start_

 

Ian sat, legs bouncing restlessly, in Mickey's bedroom. 

He'd rang the hospital a couple of minutes ago. No one had been brought in under the name Mickey Milkovich. Ian gave them a description, hoping Mickey had just used an alias or some dumb shit. But no, still no Mickey. 

He rang Mandy, but of course she hadn't seen him. 

The same went for Iggy and Joey.

He'd then presided to ring Tony, hoping that maybe he'd been arrested. But, he hadn't seen Mickey either.

Ian was going to fucking kill him.

He didn't know where else to look. 

There was no one left to call.

 

_It's thunder and it's lightning_

_And it's all things too frightening_

_I could barely see outside_

 

It was stormy now, the thick August heat giving in to clashes of thunder and lightning. 

There was still no Mickey.

Ian pulled his boots on and headed back outside, seeming to get drenched almost immediately. He couldn't tell whether it was from rain or sweat. Probably both.

He walked. He didn't know where exactly he was going, but anywhere was better than just sitting there. 

He rounded the corner, eyes flickering into an alleyway as he passed it, and then he paused. He took a step back, turned his head slightly.

Fucker.

Mickey was leaning back against the alley wall, one leg folded up and his foot resting on the wall. A cigarette was dangling from his fingers, his head tilted back, neck bare, smoke rolling from his lips, eyes closed in contentment. He was sheltered there against the storm, the tall buildings keeping him dry.

Ian entered the alleyway silently, hands clenched into fists, anger broiling inside him. 

He'd been looking all fucking day. He'd thought he was fucking dead.

"Where the fuck have you been?" He yelled as he neared his boyfriend.

Mickey's head shot up, shocked out of his blissful daze. He was bleeding from at least four different places on his face, one eye beginning to bruise shut. He twisted round and quickly clutched at his side, the sharp movement obviously jostling another injury hidden beneath his shirt. He looked grubby, more so than usual, like he'd been rolling around on the ground. The skin over his knuckles was broken, red and sore and seeping. 

It was obvious he'd been in a brawl. A couple of guys at least. 

He was also pretty certain that Mickey had won, if the smirk on his face was anything to go by. 

Ian stepped forward and threw a punch, his fist colliding with Mickey's jaw.

 

_Your body was black and blue_

_It struck twice it was nothing new_

 

"What the hell was that?" Mickey shouted. He opened and closed his mouth, checking for damage, glaring at Ian. "Gallagher? What the fuck?"

"There was a shooting. At the Alibi." Ian spat back.

"Yeah? So what?" Mickey replied, dumbfounded.

"You fucking knew?" Ian yelled.

"Yes I fucking knew." Mickey retorted, his eyes rolling. "I work there, ass-clown."

"You're such a prick."

"Will you please tell me what the fuck I did? We're in Southside! People get shot all the fucking time!"

"Yeah, but not where you work!"

"I wasn't even there. I was doing a run." Mickey grumbled.

"Well, you could have fucking called. Or, I don't know, _answered your phone!"_

Mickey sighed. "I'm sorry. Look. I'm fine. I'm all good. No bullet wound."

Ian nodded and bit at his bottom lip, looking away to try and tamper down his rage. Mickey was right. He was okay.

"I hate you." Ian mumbled.

Suddenly, Mickey's hand was on his shoulder and he was shoving Ian back against the rough brick wall. He crushed their lips together, one hand sliding to the back of Ian's neck and the other tangling and tugging at his hair. Ian grunted in surprise, but was quick to return the fervour. He slid his hands up Mickey's chest and then pushed him back until he hit the opposite wall, their positions reversed. Ian ground down against him, arms circling Mickey's waist to pull them flush together. Mickey moaned, his mouth falling open, allowing Ian to thrust his tongue inside. 

Ian dragged his mouth down, biting and sucking on Mickey's neck hard enough to bruise. "Don't you- don't you  _ever-_ fucking- do- that- again-"

Mickey whimpered, his hands reaching down to grasp at Ian's ass, squeezing and pulling him closer, desperate for more friction, more pressure.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, Mick." Ian whispered into Mickey's neck, his breath hot and wet against Mickey's skin. "I'm gonna make sure you remember next time to answer your fucking phone."

"Yeah- Ian,  _please-"_

"You gonna remember?" Ian teased. "I'm not gonna fuck you unless you promise you'll remember."

"Gallagher! I'll fucking remember! Now will you just shut up and get on me already?" Mickey huffed impatiently.

Ian chuckled. "Turn round then. Can't fuck you here like that."

Mickey was quick to comply, his hands immediately grappling with his belt until he could pull everything down. 

"Suck." Ian demanded, his fingers pushing into Mickey's waiting mouth. 

"Hope you've got a lubricated condom on you, otherwise this is going to fucking burn." Ian muttered as he pushed two fingers inside Mickey without hesitation. He knew he could take it. He knew how much Mickey liked the stretch and burn when they were all worked up like this.

"You fucking bet I have." Mickey grunted, his teeth digging into the forearm he had braced against the wall. "Back pocket."

Ian pulled his fingers out and reached down to rummage through Mickey's clothing until he found the small packet. "Always ready for me to jump you, huh?"

"Hurry the fuck up." Mickey barked, his ass sticking out ready. 

Ian rolled the condom on quickly, giving himself a few tugs, and then lined up against Mickey's entrance. He pushed up half way in, fingers holding Mickey's hips like a vice, then pulled back slightly, before slamming back in. A cry fell from Mickey's lips, his eyes squeezing shut and his brows furrowing. Ian pounded into him, again and again and again, relentless in the snapping of his hips. It was fucking perfect.

Mickey can't help himself. He keeps letting out all these soft, mewling noises and half-sobs against his forearm. His legs are shaking with the effort to stay upright and he's pretty sure Ian's weight is the only thing stopping him from slumping down onto the floor. 

"Fuck, Mick." Ian grunted, his thrusts losing their rhythm, his hand reaching round to tug at Mickey. "You're always so good."

And that was it. Suddenly Mickey is clamping down around him, fingers scrabbling at the brickwork, Ian's name falling almost desperately from his lips. Ian tries to stave off his own release, wanting nothing more than to just keep pounding inside Mickey all day, but then everything flashes white and he's pushed over the edge too. 

 

_And it's thunder_

_And it's lightning_

_Coming home_

 

The storm is still raging on when they finally emerge from the alleyway, both looking the worse for wear. Mickey is bare chested now, his shirt stained in a way that was totally unacceptable to be seen in public. He felt vulnerable, his skin and all its scars visible to the world. But then, Ian tugged off his own shirt and yanked it down over Mickey's head. Ian smiled at him knowingly, his eyes kind and loving, and he wrapped an arm round Mickey's shoulders. 

"Hot as balls tonight." Mickey muttered with a smirk, reaching down to grab a cigarette and his lighter from his pocket.

Ian smirked back, watching the way Mickey's cheeks hollowed when he sucked on the tobacco to light it. Mickey paused for a moment, hunched over and his hands cupping the end of the cigarette to try and get the flame to catch. 

"Fucking rain." Mickey grumbled.

It took him a couple of minutes, but it finally lit, and Mickey looked up triumphantly. Ian shook his head fondly, taking the cigarette from Mickey's outstretched hand when he was offered it.

"Let's go get dry." Ian said, passing it back and putting his arm back around Mickey's shoulder, pulling him towards home.  

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to contact me: http://enochianess.tumblr.com


End file.
